Loud and proud, we holler.

The older I get the more I am convinced that what the world needs more than anything else right now is story-tellers. TRUTH-tellers. People who are bold enough and brave enough to bring everything to Light: all of our deepest, darkest fears, our most shameful insecurities, the authentically human reality that is making mistakes. They will speak, or write, or act, or sing, or shout-from-the-rooftops about those moments in which we honour and revel in the Divinity and Grace that we are promised by virtue of being alive. TRULY ALIVE.

When we tell these stories, particularly on behalf of the generations that precede us, we liberate from genetic prisons the unresolved emotions, the hurts and the damage that trickle like rain drops down the fronds of a plant; down, down, down to future generations, unsuspecting and unaware of the causes of their very real, yet unexplained, pain.

And there will be understanding, compassion and love, where before there was uncertainty, contempt and fear.

What are we here for if not to love one another as fiercely and as bravely as we can?

There is no other purpose.

Families are like quilts.

My son laughs easily and often.

There are times when he becomes so lost in his joy, he intuitively rubs his hands together as though he is stoking a fire… burning and blazing for even more joy.

I have seen others do this: his father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Cut from the same mold, they are. It is the most remarkable thing…

To be stitched so intimately together by something as simple as a gesture.

The world is good. I find proof of this in such things.

Six months and counting… An update of sorts.

We’ve been in our new home for nearly six months. We took possession on St. Patrick’s day, which in these parts, also happens to mark the Spring Equalday, a time of rebirth and celebration. There was much significance in this for me.

In April, we went on vacation with my brother, his wife and his youngest son. Disney World! Universal Studios! We had an amazing time forging memories that I will treasure always.

In May, we brought home a puppy, a Bernedoodle, and we named him after Captain America’s best friend, Bucky. Which later became Bucky Sneakers. Or, Bucky Boo. Or, Bucks. Or, Buck-man. Whichever seems most appropriate really.

I love our Bucky! He is my constant companion and I cannot fully explain how grateful I am to have that. He is my giant, furry baby. I am shameless in my devotion to him. He is not just a dog.

He’s my very best pal. Here’s why:

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